


The Blindfold

by HardshipsUnnumbered



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Din Djarin Removes the Helmet, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mando is a softie, blindfold, but you dont "see" his face, he loves having you around
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:01:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27773458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HardshipsUnnumbered/pseuds/HardshipsUnnumbered
Summary: It was clear things had changed. The cloth at your waist was a clear indication; the Mandalorian took his helmet off in your presence from time to time now, his voice soft and gentle on the other side of your blindfold. You tried to imagine what he looked like from the bits and pieces you were able to feel, but it wasn't like you had much to work with. Even when he was injured, you barely got to touch or see the flesh hidden below layers of cloth and Beskar. This was the Way.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You
Comments: 1
Kudos: 129





	The Blindfold

**Author's Note:**

> yes this is self-indulgent and will only get more so as time goes on, i'm sure. classic "one bed, two people" trope. sue me.

There was a strip of thick, umber cloth knotted at your waist, the ends frayed from the blade of a hasty knife. The Mandalorian had cut it from the fringe of his cape, his hands shaking from his collective injuries. An explosion had thrown his body against the wall, and there was no denying the blood seeping down from under his consecrated, insensible helmet.

"Mando, you'll die," You insisted, his head cradled in your hands. "I respect you and I respect your Creed, but I cannot let you die from it." 

Trembling, you had watched as he fumbled for the knife in his vambrace, clumsily slitting the blade through the thick weave of his cloak. It seemed to take an infinite amount of energy to tear through each thread, and by the time he was finished, the Mandalorian was limp in your arms.

"Din." He palpitated as you hurried to tie the makeshift blindfold over your fearful eyes. "My name is Din Djarin."

The danger had long passed now. Though the Mandalorian had given you his blessing to use the name, it felt like a breach of privacy on your tongue. You continued to call him Mando like everyone else, and he regarded you with the same stoicism. At least, you assumed he did. There was no telling under that Beskar armor he always wore- no indication of any emotion in the T-shaped slit of his visor. But, at the same time, it was clear things had changed. The cloth at your waist was a clear indication; the Mandalorian took his helmet off in your presence from time to time now, his voice soft and gentle on the other side of your blindfold. You tried to imagine what he looked like from the bits and pieces you were able to feel, but it wasn't like you had much to work with. Even when he was injured, you barely got to touch or see the flesh hidden below layers of cloth and Beskar. This was the Way.

There was a coo at your side as you worked on the Razor Crest, which seemed to always be in need of repairs these days. Wiping at the sweat that had gathered above your brow, you turned to the minute green child beside you, glancing down as his hands fisted into the loose material of your pants. They cuffed neatly around your ankles and exposed your feet, which were only slipped into sandals today. The hyperdrive was overheating, of course, and wearing anything more restricting would be torture in the boiling compartment. You couldn't imagine what Mando was suffering through in the cockpit, stewing under too many layers.

"I'm sorry, little one," You apologized softly, dropping your tools to the ground with a clanking noise. "I'm trying to fix this thing. Can you wait a little longer?"

The melancholy welling in the Child's eyes revealed waiting would not be possible. Simpering, you uncrossed your legs, wincing, and scooped the baby into your arms. Just as you had filled a bucket of chilled water for your charge to bathe in, the hatch to the cockpit above swung open.

"How is the drive?" The Mandalorian's voice was hoarse, worsened by the modulator. His movements were uncharacteristically sluggish as he dropped from the ladder, his boots thudding against the floor. You looked up from removing the layers of swaddling from the Child and frowned, noting how he leaned heavily against the wall.

"It's in a bad state," You responded simply. "I can't fix it, not with the junk we have lying around. We have to stop."

Maybe it was your imagination, but you thought you heard the Mandalorian _groan_. Wincing, you finally set the baby into the water, causing him to babble happily. At least someone was getting relief from this awful heat.

"The nearest planet is barely inhabited," Mando spoke, his breaths heavy and thick. "It's almost entirely water, with brutal storms and a rampant black market."

"It'll have to do." You'd been getting braver, standing by the Mandalorian as an equal. "Mando, you should take your armor off- at least until we land."

His shoulders sagged as you reached for your blindfold, deftly tying it at the nape of your neck. As soon as the cloth was blocking your vision, you could hear the Beskar armor falling to the ground, the Mandalorian shedding each piece like he was dying. Finally, the telltale hiss of his helmet being removed filled the room, then one final, resounding thud.

"There, that better?" You grunted, adjusting the thin cloth of your halter top. "Go pilot us, Mando. I'll clean your armor."

He was hesitant. For a while, there were no footsteps, no sounds of him clambering back up the ladder. Frowning, you opened your mouth to speak, but he beat you to it.

"Din."

Without his helmet, his voice was surprisingly vulnerable. Still, you knew it was not simply because the modulator was no longer there. Mando's voice was _always_ even, no matter the circumstance. Until now.

"No one is around," He continued hastily, as if trying to cover up a mistake. "You're..." He stumbled on his words, nearly seizing up. " _Aliit_. You're _aliit_."

Then he was scrambling up the latter as if his life depended on it, the hatch door slamming shut moments later. Confused, you untied the blindfold and stared up after where his figure had disappeared, mulling over the strange interaction.

While you certainly didn't know what _aliit_ meant, you knew that the Mandalorian trusting you with his Beskar was exceptional. Hiding a smile, you let the Child splash around for a little longer before the water went warm, swaddling him loosely this time before putting the creature to bed in his hammock. You lingered a moment because this was also _Din's_ quarters, but scurried out with a blush moments later.

By the time the Mandalorian came back down, knocking to signal for you to blindfold yourself again, his armor was clean. The Beskar had been polished and treated, the little scrapes and dents seemingly melted away into the metal. The cloth it was attached to had been washed, the sweat and grime rinsed from the dark fabric. Even though you couldn't see Mando's face, you knew by his silence that he was indeed impressed. 

"We're landing soon," He finally spoke. "Are you done?"

"Yes," You replied, smiling faintly. There had been pride in his voice.

After Din had replaced every buckle and strap, you finally removed the cloth from your eyes, shaking out your hair. The Mandalorian disappeared into the cockpit again but this time, you followed, sitting copilot to help land. When at last, the Razor Crest touched down, you donned your cloak, gathering the slumbering Child into his pod. With a push of a button, Mando shut the carrier tight, holstering his blaster.

"It'll be rough around here," He warned you. "I'll arrange for repairs and a room for the night, but we shouldn't stay long. And _don't_ stray."

All you could do was nod as he exited the ship, following in his footsteps. Once the harbormaster was paid, you ventured into the seedy town, pulling your hood up to shield your face from the ocean spray. 

"And to think I'd forgotten what being cold felt like," You muttered, pressing close to Din's body. With his Beskar, it wouldn't do much, but the proximity was comforting. There were stares from all over on you now, and you shuddered from something more than the chill.

"Stay close," The Mandalorian murmured. You obliged.

The inn-and-tavern he chose was considerably less suspicious than the town, but safety came at a high price. No matter how the Mandalorian pressured, the Mon Calamari on the other side of the counter wouldn't budge, turning his gills up at the specie Mando offered. Shyly, you removed one of the polished bangles from your wrist, adding it to the pile that was being negotiated. His interest piqued, the creature before you inspected the bracelet, turning the golden band in the dim light. Then, with a satisfied grunt, he ushered you and Mando upstairs, showing you to a room in the far hall. Once he'd pocketed the credits, he was gone.

"You didn't have to do that," Din muttered, pushing open the door. "I've never seen you take those off."

"They're not important," You replied. "Our safety is."

The pad was practically barren, boasting only a tattered bed and a tiny bathroom. Seemingly frustrated, Din coasted the Child to the corner, where he opened the pod to the dismal room. Then, dropping his arms back to his side, he turned on his heel, inspecting the meager room. 

" _Osik'la_..." The Mandalorian grunted, and somehow, though you knew the word was foul, his native tongue was enchanting. "I'm sorry. You gave up your possession for this. I can sleep on the floor."

You rolled your eyes, blushing at the same time. "Nonsense. I swear... It's only a night, Mando. This will do."

He seemed to stiffen at your use of his nickname, removing his rifle from where it was slung over his shoulder. Leaning it against the wall, he sat rigidly on the edge of the bed, making no more moves to shed anything else. Finally, at your insistence, he kicked up his feet, leaning against the pillows. You huffed at his behavior but recognized the necessity; you didn't trust that fish any farther than you could throw him. 

"You're not going to stay up all night, are you?" You questioned the Mandalorian as you removed your outer garments, unbuckling the holster that had been hidden under your cloak. The blaster was, thankfully, hardly used. Mando did the dirty work.

"I'll be fine," He responded gruffly.

"That doesn't answer my question."

Mando didn't speak again, even as you slipped under the covers for the night. You closed your eyes, trying to block out your companion's proximity and the soft snores of the Child. There was a chill in the air still, but it was better than being outside. Maybe you could get used to these arrangements.

It was hours later when your eyes opened again, fluttering in the pitch-black darkness of the room. Despite your blindness, you could tell Mando hadn't moved, though there was no way to know if he had fallen asleep. Groggily, you lifted yourself on one arm, yawning.

"Mando?"

There was a sound, but it wasn't from him. The Child had awoken, apparently, and was babbling in what you could only describe as distress. Immediately filling with dread, you reached over, your hands meeting warm flesh instead of cold Beskar. He was trembling.

"Mando?" You repeated, moving closer in the dark. Then, finally, with slight hesitation, "Din?"

You screamed as blaster fire rang out, but realized in an instant it was only from the Mandalorian beside you. The brief flash of red lit up the room and you could see there was no one there, only a smoldering hole on the wall now. At your side, Din was panting, his gloved hand clenched around the smaller blaster he kept at his hip. 

"What was that?" You scolded, pulling away. "You nearly shot my _kriffing_ head off, Mando!"

He wasn't listening. The covers were upturned as Din abruptly stood, feeling around in the dark. You realized with a start that he must have completely divested himself of his armor and was now rushing to put it nack on, knowing you were not blindfolded. You reached for his arm again and blessedly made contact, your hand grasping his wrist. 

"Din." It felt like the right time to use his name. "I can't see you- it's too dark. You're okay."

Amazingly, he seemed to relax at your words, if only slightly. Tugging gently at his hand, you urged the Mandalorian back into bed, covering his shivering body in the blankets.

"I'm sorry."

His apology ripped through you like a lightsaber, gutting you with the raw emotion that was behind it. This was not your Mandalorian, stoic and unfeeling. This was Din Djarin.

A banging on the door startled both of you, but you soon realized you really should have seen it coming. Before Din could move, you were up, padding over to the entrance. On the other side, the Mon Calamari was seething, immediately opening his gills to rave at you. All you could do was apologize profusely, slipping another golden band from your wrist and pressing it into his hands.

"Here, to cover the damage," You insisted, closing the door in the fish's face. "It was a malfunction!"

Din had hidden himself from the sliver of light that had shot in through the door. Even when the darkness returned, he did not budge, moving away as you slipped back into bed. Curiously, you allowed your hand to wander again, finding a mane of surprisingly soft curls. Din _gasped_.

"I'm sorry!" You uttered, drawing back. "I was just trying to find where you were... I really can't see, you know."

"I know," He shuddered. You knew that somewhere, unspoken, was a confession of trust. Something stirred within you, and you let your hand return to his hair.

You don't ask him what he was dreaming of, and in return, he doesn't stop you when you lay by his side, your face nestled on his shoulder. For once, there was no wound to stem, no blood to wipe away from barely-revealed skin. He was soft under your touch, and despite how good it felt, you knew it would not continue. 

"I won't look," You promised, despite every fibre in your body begging to do the opposite. "In the morning, I mean."

"I'm sorry," He said again, his voice barely a whisper. "I look at you every day. _Mesh'la_."

Though you didn't understand his words, Din's tone was clear. Blushing in the darkness, you pressed a long, soft kiss to his forehead, barely able to pull away.

"I understand. Your Creed is... important," You managed, hating the way your voice caught in your throat. "I respect that, Din. I respect you."

"I _know._ " His voice broke and then he was kissing you, clumsy and inexperienced and _oh so_ vulnerable. Cupping his stubbled cheeks in your hands, you responded in kind, devouring his mouth until his breath was gone. As best as you could, you mapped his face, trying to see by touch. Was that allowed? Was _any_ of this allowed?

"Din," You breathed, reluctantly breaking away. "Are you sure?"

The Mandalorian collapsed against you, his jaw pressed into your side. Without his armor, he seemed small, exhausted and at his wit's end. Despite his touch, you were afraid of his answer, combing your fingers through his disheveled locks.

"I-" Din stumbled over his words. "It wouldn't be fair to you. M-my face- I can't-"

"I know." It was your turn to interject, your lips brushing his forehead again. "I can live with that, Din. Anything."

The Child cooed worriedly. Somehow, it had made its way onto the bed, clambering into your laps. This sobered Din, who immediately scooped the baby into his strong arms. In a few moments, the Child was asleep again, rocking back and forth softly in his stellar bassinet. 

"Do you mean it?" Din asked after a long moment, cautiously settling back into bed. "It's a commitment, I know. I would understand if you change your mind at any point."

You shook your head vehemently before realizing he couldn't see. "I won't," You promised instead, reaching blindly to capture his hand in yours. Maybe one day, he would show you his face. You wanted that more than anything. 

After a long moment, your Mandalorian sagged into your touch. "This is the Way," He parroted, almost mournfully. You could tell he was exhausted.

"Yes, this is the Way," You agreed in a murmur. "Now please, sleep."

Din Djarin slept well for the first time in _many_ years.


End file.
